The Night of the Needle
by Zeragii
Summary: What if Artie had been hypnotized by Torres, instead of faking, in the episode The Night of the Steel Assassin? An AU story. Rated T just to be safe.
1. Unpleasant Visit

**- I do not own any of these characters. Many of the lines and actions of this story are from the episode The Night of the Steel Assassin. I don't own a thing. I write only for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others. -**

**I would suggest watching the episode before reading this story. Thank you, and enjoy!**

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"Absolutely delightful," Artemus Gordon beamed, leaning against the bar table. The young woman at his side was gorgeous, and he had no intentions of letting James West have the pleasure of wooing her first. Her dark brown, almost black hair, tied in a graceful mess atop her head, went well with the frilly, black dress she wore. It was sleeveless, with only two straps, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. Around her neck a dark colored, glittered necklace adorned her pale skin. It was one of those 'choker' kind; the ones Artie always thought looked terribly uncomfortable.

All around them people milled about. Many men doing just as Gordon was; conversing with the other showgirls. Some ordered food and drink, but their attentions were far from consumption.

He smiled at her with all the charm he could muster. "How soon can you be finished?"

The girl gave him a heart-melting smile. "When do you want me to finish," she cooed.

Artie's face blushed as his smile deepened, and he looked down at the floor for a brief second before continuing. "Uheh, well, the more the-"

Absorbed in his happy fantasy, Artemus didn't notice the young man slowly making his way toward the two until the fellow spoke from behind him.

"We will walk upstairs." _A command_, _not_ _an_ _invitation_.

Artie turned his head to look over his shoulder at the man. He was a sickly looking gentleman, Artie noted, annoyed at being disturbed in his 'work'. His sunken cheeks, big ears, and thin face, nose and lips adding to his rather distasteful looks. The man's eyes were squinted, brow fixed in an unpleasant frown. The dark orbs themselves shot into Artie with a hatred that caused the government agent to pause.

"I'm sorry," Gordon said firmly, using his hand to gesture his steadfast answer," my Great-aunt Maude told me never to go off with strangers." He smiled as he turned his attention back to the young woman at his side.

Something cold and metal pushed into his back, causing the grin to fall from the agent's face as he straightened himself with alarmed realization.

"I don't like jokes," the man growled out, forcing the gun barrel deeper into Artie's tense body. "You'll move now or I'll shoot you six times." The distinct _click_ of the gun in his side being cocked filled Artie with that nervous feeling he always got at one time or another in all their cases. _Why_ _is it_ _always_ _me_ _who_ _gets_ _caught_?

Gordon took a deep breath, careful not to move to quickly, lest he cause his threatening acquaintance into something Artie would regret. "Uh, that's introduction enough," Artie said with a fake smile and a nervous chuckle. He turned his head back toward the man, still smirking. "After you?," he asked, extending his hand in a friendly motion in the direction of the steps. The man's face remained impassive, hatred and determination mixed into stubborn intent. Artie's smile diminished to an accepting grimace. "I didn't think so." He turned back to the young woman and gave her a courteous nod. "Excuse me."

The girl looked confused, if not a little frightened, but she did nothing to stop them as the stranger lead Artemus from the bar, gun still firmly pressed into the agent's back.

No one noticed them as they made their way across the room. All the costumers were too occupied with the group of showgirls swinging on little platformed seats from the ceiling, giggling and flirting unashamedly.

Reaching the far side of the saloon/casino, his captor urged him to take the small flight of stairs set against the wall, spiraling upward to the glass-paneled, brightly lit room he and Jim had noticed when they had first arrived.

The gun didn't leave his back as they reached the top, and the man behind him opened the door leading into the room. Artie gave him a defiant smile, trying to stall for time, hoping Jim would return from his 'talk' with Nina Gilbert in time to spot his partner's less then desirable situation. But his captor wouldn't have any nonsense, grabbing his arm and pushing him through with brutal force.

Artie stumbled inside, trying to regain his balance before he fell. He managed to do so, but just barely.

"Easy with him. I want him to still be of use to me."

The voice came from the right side of the chamber. Artie looked in that direction, already guessing what he'd see, but being alarmed even so. There was no mistaking that odd voice, that would have sounded so human if not for that strange, robotic vibration.

"Mr. Torres."

The deformed man stood by a bookcase filled with dusty volumes, as if his two visitors had caught him deep in study. Artie couldn't help but stare at the man's crippled body, some parts replaced or overlayed with steel. It looked so...unnatural. Like something out of a nightmare. Only Artie knew he wasn't dreaming.

Torres indicated a small lounge chair at the center of the room, in front of which was a old coffee table with a large, colorful lamp perched upon its surface. "Do sit down, Mr. Gordon. We have much to discuss."

Artemus paused, uncertain of what he should do. He could feel the presence of the man who escorted him at his back. Even if he refused to sit, Artie was sure he'd be forced to.

Slowly, keeping his eyes on the Steel Assassin, Artie crossed over to the chair and lowered himself into it.

Torres nodded in approval. "Very wise, Mr. Gordon. Very, _very_ wise."

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," Artemus growled.

A faint smirk appeared on the assassin's face. It made Artie's stomach twist. "We shall see."

Torres made his way over and stood in front of his captive. With all that metal inside of him, Artie half expected Torres to clank and rattle as he walked, but that wasn't the case. The assassin's movements, though stiff and not terrible smooth, were soundless in that regard. The only difference from normal men that Artie could detect was the heaviness of Torres' steps. They were louder, deeper sounding then they should have been. As if the man weighed far more then the average person.

"What do you know of my plans?" _A question_ _that_ _demanded_ _an_ _answer_.

Artie felt his body tense. "Nothing."

Torres nodded slowly, as if he has expected such a response. "I understand your stubbornness, Mr. Gordon. You are an agent, trained to stand firm against any form of...persuasion. I commend you for it." His voice always stayed the same pitch, never once rising or falling. "But it will do little good in this case."

He walked over to another table not far from where Artemus sat. He continued to talk as he poured himself a drink. "You and your persistent partner, Mr. West, have been on my trail for the last few days. I find it very unlikely that neither of you have made any progress." He held out a cup of whine to the agent. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No, thank you," Artie replied with stiff politeness. His nerves couldn't take much more of this. "Get to the point, Torres. Why did you bring me here? Surely it wasn't to have a friendly chat about our case."

Torres' mouth twitched in what might once have been indication of a smile. "Indeed," he thrummed, once more coming to stand before the agent. He placed his steel plated hand on the lamp on the coffee table. "I have had you brought here to enlist your...assistance."

Artie almost snorted out loud. His mind raced, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

"You are going to help me get rid of James West, as well as carry out my plans, of which you claim to know 'nothing'."

Artie's face filled with cold determination. "And if I refuse?"

"Oh, you won't refuse," Torres said, almost with a hint of amusement. "You'll have no choice." As he said this, Torres gave the lamp shade a light turn, sending it spinning slowly.

Artie blinked as a bright light hit him full in the face, then faded, followed by another light. Squinting, he noticed the lampshade was of a paneled design. Two dark panels, effectively blocking the brightness of the lamp, followed by a clear panel. The pattern of dark and light caught him off guard as he held his hand up to block the sudden distraction.

Torres nodded to the man who had brought Artie up to the chamber. He was still standing by the door, but moved forward at his master's command. "Hold him still."

Artie felt someone grab his wrist, pulling it down so he could no longer shield his face. Artemus reacted at once, attempting to rise and pull away from the man, but with little success. The henchman had already managed to grab his other wrist as well, pulling both limbs up and back, effectively immobilizing him in the chair. Artie winced as he dealt with the pain his position produced.

The lampshade continued to spin, flashing light into the agent's eyes as he flinched and blinked repeatedly. Torres watched, speaking in a low, almost soothing voice.

"You _will_ assist me, Mr. Gordon. You _will_ help me in my plans."

Artie's mind felt jumbled, as if all the facts were slowly melting into something he couldn't distinguish. It was most unpleasant, and he couldn't help feel as if he were steadily losing control of his thoughts.

_Control of my thoughts?! Mind control! Hypnotism!_

Artie struggled to get out of his captor's grip, but it only produced a sharp pain in his arms. He glared up at Torres, anger tinged with fear making its way into his voice.

"So that's how you did it! You hypnotized Miss Gilbert! That's why she's acting so strangely!"

"That is correct, Mr. Gordon."

Artie looked back at the lamp. He didn't want to, but some odd urge to look into it had taken hold of him. He found it harder and harder to think clearly. He wanted to fight it, but it was a losing battle. Soon, the government agent's struggles became less and less, then they stopped altogether.

"Release him," Torres commanded his man. The ugly fellow released his hold on Artie's wrists, stepping back to give his master and their captive some room. Artemus brought his arms back down to rest in his lap, sitting ram-rod straight in the chair, staring deeply into the patterned light.

Torres nodded in approval. "Mr. Gordon, how much do you know of my plans? Nothing, as you claimed, or are you in need of more information?"

Artie didn't blink, his face expressionless. He took a slow, sluggish breath before answering in a soft, toneless voice. "We must have more before we can act, yes."

"You are still without proof anything is to happen?"

Another pause. "There is no proof."

"Very well," Torres said, watching Artie carefully. "Mr. Gordon, the building we are now in was once an old prison. Below the first floor there are dungeons... cells.. corridors." Artie remained still, no reaction evident in his face. "When you return to Mr. West's train," Torres continued, " you will inform him that you were delayed in town while ferreting out this information."

Artie breathed slowly, pausing once more before answering. "I will tell him."

Torres kept his attention on the agent's face. "The moment you leave, Mr. Gordon, you will be your old self. You will remember only that you and Mr. West should find out more about these dungeons; that they very possibly have something to do with the assassin's plans."

Artie nodded his head slowly; weakly, as if he were fighting not to, and losing badly.

"You may now leave."

Artemus rose slowly from the chair, eyes still staring straight ahead of him, face pale and without emotion.

"Uh, one moment, Mr. Gordon." Torres moved up to him, so that they were side by side, almost touching. Artie paused. Torres held a long, thin piece of metal in front of his gaze, even though the assassin knew Artie couldn't see it. "If you are in a proper trance, you will be insensitive to the pain from this needle."

Torres paused, as if expecting some sort of answer, before jabbing the sharp object into Artie's shoulder. He felt it enter his subject's skin and muscle.

Artie didn't even flinch.

Torres pushed harder, furthering the needle's reach inside the agent's body, until he felt it stop, refusing to pass through the bone it had encountered. Satisfied, the assassin sent his grinning henchman a look of affirmation that Artemus Gordon was indeed under his control. He withdrew the needle, returning his gaze to Artie's exhausted face. Rubbing the needle in his metal garbed hands, he gave his last command to the agent.

"You may now leave."

Artie breathed another slow breath, then turned to leave. Torres watched him until he left the room and started to descend the stairs.

Artemus walked slowly back to the bar. His lady friend was long gone, having found someone new to entertain. The room was still in chaos, filled with cheering men and giggling girls. As Artie reached the spot he had vacated earlier, he started to blink, as if waking up from a deep sleep. He looked around him, confused. "How'd I...?"

Suddenly he realized he had a horrible headache, as a wave of nausea hit him. He lifted his right arm to place his hand to his pounding skull when a sharp, agonizing pain erupted in his shoulder. Wincing, he brought up his left hand, gingerly lifting the flap of his tan coat.

"What in the-?"

Beneath his jacket, slowly seeping through his white shirt, a small, round circle of blood was forming.

"How...how did _that_ happen?"

** TBC**


	2. Back at the Train

The Wanderer stood unmoving outside of town on a barren track. Dark smoke rose slowly from its stack, billowing out into the overcast sky. It was a dusty part of the country. Low, flat hills, mostly dirt and sparse shrubs, while, in the distance, a hedge of dark pines was visible. The only thing taller was one, solitary hill in the distance, almost unnoticeable in the clouded weather.

James West changed out of his dirty clothes, awaiting the arrival of his partner, Artemus Gordon. West looked down at his soiled garments. He had managed to get the overly happy Miss Nina Gilbert out of the saloon/casino and into an alley, hoping to find out why she was acting so strangely. The originally studious, educated, and rather annoying Miss Gilbert had somehow become a ditsy, giggling, and even more annoying showgirl; showing up in a strange place, obviously run by Torres, with no memory of Jim or Artie. Nor did she recall going to visit Lt. Torres the week before.

When Jim attempted to get her to safety, he had been attacked by three of Torres' henchmen. He had let the woman move to the side, out of harms way, but when the fight was over, and the attackers lay defeated, the girl was no where in sight.

Having no other lead to where she could have gone, West went back inside. He became disturbed when he returned to the bar to discover that Artemus was nowhere to be found. Thinking that, perhaps, his friend might have headed back to their train, looking for Jim, West quickly returned there as well. He was disappointed, and slightly worried, when he didn't find him there either.

_Maybe he got a lead, and he'll meet me back here when he's finished. _Jim hoped that was the case_._

Slipping on a clean shirt, a pair of pants and a jacket, West walked back into the main car just as Artemus came through the door.

"Artie!" Jim called, relief washing over him at the sight of his partner. His happy grin turned into a frown as he spotted the ever growing splotch of red on Gordon's shoulder. "What happened?"

Artie had taken his jacket off before he had arrived, not wanting it to get ruined from the blood stains. His white button-down, however, was already destroyed.

"I don't know, Jim," Artie declared, eyeing the wound with confusion. "One minute I was fine, the next, well..." He gestured to the stain. "It's a puncture mark. A deep one, though certainly not serious."

"And you don't know how you got it?" Jim pressed, wincing as his partner removed his shirt and the injury came into full view.

"No."

"You weren't shot?"

"No."

"Stabbed?"

"No."

"Scratched?"

"Jim, nothing happened!" Artie said in frustration, throwing his arms wide and wincing when the action caused more pain in his shoulder. "I was simply standing at the bar, chatting with a pretty young woman, turned around, and when I turned back she was gone and I had _this_."

West came closer to inspect it. Artemus was right; it certainly didn't _look_ serious. The puncture was only about the size a pencil tip might produce. What was disturbing was that it was bleeding a lot, trickling down his friend's arm. "How deep _is_ it?"

Artie sighed, not liking all the attention he was getting. It was just a little injury after all. "Deep enough to have hit the muscle underneath, anyway. Hurts whenever I relax or constrict the area. Lot of blood too. Wouldn't be so much if it was only skin deep." Artie started to head over to a small closet where he kept his extra shirts. "But enough about me, James My Boy, what about you? Where's Miss Gilbert?"

"Gone."

"You're kidding."

"Nope." Jim shook his head, now effectively distracted from his friend's shoulder. He went over to a cabinet, pouring a drink for both of them. "Ran into some of Torres' men. When the fight was over, she was gone." He handed Artemus the glass of what looked like white wine.

Artie took it with a exasperated smirk. "Which leaves us precisely nowhere. All I got was a pain in the shoulder and a doozy of a headache." He placed the half empty glass on the table and went to the restroom to quickly clean and bandage his shoulder.

Jim was just about to sit down when Artie rushed back into the car. His face was screwed up as if in pain, but that vanished at once to be replaced by a look of confusion.

"Artie?" Jim rose from his seat, alarmed at his friend's expression. "What's the matter?"

Artemus rubbed the back of his neck, squinting about as if there was something he couldn't remember, and he had turned rather pale.

"I...I did find out something," he said haltingly. His head ached terribly, and something seemed to be clouding his thoughts. Everything from the past two hours was fogging up, mixing with two separate and conflicting views. They blended together, until Artie couldn't remember which was the real one. He felt sick, like he had to fight...whatever this was.

West came to stand in front of him, resting a hand on his uninjured shoulder, honestly worried by this time. "Artie?"

Artemus blinked up at him, momentarily distracted. That's when he lost the battle. The stronger of the two views won out over the other. The fog cleared his mind, but the ache in his skull remained.

"The building we were in was once an old prison. Below the first floor there are dungeons, cells, corridors. I was delayed in town while ferreting out this information." Artie's voice sounded strained, but nothing else seemed wrong.

West gave him an odd look. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

A flash of confusion returned to his friend's face. "I...I don't kn-" The confusion left him. "I forgot."

Jim's look became even more uncertain. "You...forgot?"

"Yes."

Jim turned away from him, rubbing his chin in thought. "...Delayed in town?..." He turned back sharply. "Delayed how?"

"I was snooping around."

That still didn't answer the question, but Jim didn't have time for this. If what Artie said was true, they needed to investigate immediately. He decided to drop the subject of Artie's strange behavior. He trusted his partner.

"We should find out more about these dungeons," Artie added. "They very possibly may have something to do with the assassin's plans."

""Dungeons, huh?" Jim forced his mind to focus back on the case and the new information his partner had given him. He grabbed his hat and placed it on his head with his usual style. "We'd better go check it out." He turned back to Artemus. "You feeling well enough to tag along?"

Artie gave him a smile that was only a fraction off from his normal grin. "Sure I am. Let's go." He slipped his tan coat back on and followed his partner to the door.

James went out first leaving Artemus to shut off the lamp.

Artie blew out the flame and crossed over to leave. He grabbed the door knob, about to depart, when his head started to ache even worse. It hurt enough for him to pause, rising a hand to try and ease the pain. It faded almost as quickly as it had come on.

"You coming, Artie?" Jim called from outside.

Artemus shook his head, bringing himself back to the task at hand. "Be right there, Jim." With a swift motion he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

**TBC**

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**Thank you everyone for all the nice reviews so far! It's really an encouragement! Sorry this chapter is kind of short, and I promise there's more coming! Thanks again! Let me know what ya think!**


	3. Triggers and Traps

The chambers beneath the Alto Palace were cold and damp. The steady, echoing sound of moisture dripping off the ceiling and walls only enhanced the eerie atmosphere of the cavern. It was dark, though not so much that the two Secret Service agents couldn't find their way. Lanterns, placed at regular intervals, lit the passageways, casting dark shadows on the stone walls where the light could not reach.

They slunk along the passageways, silent and unseen, years of training and experience aiding them in their swift, but noiseless decent into the depths of the aged tunnels.

"If Torres bought a place like this," Artie said softly, "there must be something down here that could break open the case." His voice, though only a whisper, echoed around them between the hollow walls.

Jim only nodded in response, busy keeping an eye on his surroundings.

After some time, the two men found their way down a passage that ended abruptly, with an old, wooden door set in the wall. It had a small, bared window set in its upper half, just at face level, but it was hard to see much through it. Artie looked about quickly, nodding to Jim to keep an eye out for trouble, then gave the barrier a light rattle, attempting to lift the latch and open it. He frowned.

"Locked."

West gave him a knowing glance. Reaching up, he flipped the corner of his lapel, extracting a pin hidden beneath it. As he knelt down, James missed the expression on his partner's face as he set to work on the lock.

Artie could not take his eyes off the sharp, metal pin. A little red flag went up in his mind. Something wasn't right. There was something he needed to remember, but couldn't. His stomach churned as another wave of nausea hit the agent, his head feeling as though it were going to explode. _That_ _pin_..._what_ _did_ _it_ _remind_ _him_ _of_?

Jim jostled the pin around within the door's mechanics, fiddling expertly, unaware of his friend's pained struggles behind him.

There was an audible _click_, and West smiled as he stood back to his feet.

"It's unlocked," he declared, satisfaction evident on his handsome features. His expression changed to one of concern when he took in Artie's pallid complexion. "You alright?"

"Yeah...yeah." The pain had subsided, going almost as quickly as it had come. Artie ran a hand through his dark hair, suddenly feeling very tired. "Just felt a little...sick." He swallowed. "I'm good now."

Jim wasn't convinced. "You sure?" he whispered uncertainly, "You can always go back to the train." He withered under Artie's glare.

"And let you go through that door alone and go waltzing into danger?" Artemus grouched, "Not likely."

Jim still hesitated.

Artie rolled his eyes. "Oh, for crying out- Look, Jim, I'm fine," he said, grabbing the door handle and giving it a shove. It opened without a problem. Artemus gestured with a bow for his partner to go through first.

West gave a smile and a shake of his head before stepping through the open door.

The threshold opened up to a wooden platform in a dimly lit chamber. A flight of old steps led to the floor below, where chains and other restraining devices gave evidence that it had once served as a dungeon of some kind.

Jim stepped onto the creaking structure, placing the pin back under his lapel. Artie followed closely, closing the door behind him, but avoided looking at the pin.

They stood together, taking in the chamber and its furnishings. It was silent, even more than it had been in the tunnels, except for...

James cocked his head to the side, listening intently. "It sounds like running water."

Artie mirrored his friend's action, face matching West's confused expression as his mind returned to their case. "Yeah."

Both agents jumped, startled, as a third voice impeded on their conversation.

"An underground river, Mr. West."

Snapping their attention to their right, where the intruder's voice had come, Jim and Artemus could not help but cringe.

Torres emerged from the shadows, parts of his mangled body shining in the faint light where steel plated his skin.

Artie felt his heart skip a beat. An unexplainable fear was starting to form within him. He couldn't understand it; he had been faced with many insane and demented villains in his career, and, as worrisome as they could be, he had never felt afraid of them. Well, at least not like this. Artemus felt as if there was nothing he could do against the half man-half machine, and hopelessness was not a feeling he was used to, nor did he know how to deal with it. As Torres stepped forward, his henchman at his side, Artemus took an involuntary step backward, putting as much space between them as possible.

Torres gestured to the stairs with one of his metal covered hands. "Precede us down the steps, please."

Jim exchanged a cautionary glance with his partner, before slowly turning toward the stairway. Suddenly, West twirled around, delivering a powerful punch to Torres' lackey, felling him before the man could react.

Artie would have cheered if not for how, with very little effort, Torres stepped forward and, with one quick swing, ended Jim's revolt with a monstrous blow. Jim was struck full force in the face, falling backward down the platform steps, head over heels. He smashed through the wooden railing near the bottom, crashing to the dank floor below. He lay there, unmoving.

"Jim!"

Artie rushed forward from the doorway he had inadvertently backed himself into. His concern for his friend momentarily overriding his fear. He made for the steps and his unconscious partner.

"Mr. Gordon."

Artie froze. His hand, resting on the beginning of the railing, started to shake. That voice commanded and...for some reason, Artemus found himself obeying. _Why_?

Torres' henchman, Lopez, had picked himself up off the floor by this time, gun drawn and aimed on the remaining agent, but it was not he who had spoken.

"Mr. Gordon, look at me."

Artie turned slowly, eyes fearful and confused. The trembling had spread from his hands to his whole body. His knees felt weak, as though he might collapse at any moment. His gaze met that of Torres. The assassin's eyes were cold, and unfeeling; calm, and yet full of vengeance.

"N-no..." Artie winced, his headache increasing as his mind began to fog. He could feel something slipping away from him; something important. But a gray mist, dangerous and frightening, was beginning to overtake him, as that feeling of hopelessness grew, almost to the point of being unbearable. A sort of desperate panic had filled him. He needed to fight! _Don't_ _give_ _in!_

"Mr. Gordon, you will listen to me."

_Too_ _late_. Artemus felt the last ounce of his control slip away from him. There was nothing he could do. His face became expressionless as his mind went completely blank, as all emotion, all feeling, and all his willpower disappeared.

"Mr. Gordon, are you listening?"

"...Yes..."

Torres nodded. "You will chain your friend, Mr. West, to the wall in the room below us. When you are done, you will do the same to yourself. I will come to get you when I am ready for your assistance. Do you understand?"

Artie breathed slowly, then spoke. "...I understand."

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**Boy, it's good to be back! This chapter, as well as the next couple chapters, I wrote while on vacation. I wrote on good old fashioned paper while sitting around a campfire way out in the woods of New Hampshire. :) Please enjoy, and review. THANKS!**


	4. In the Dungeon

James West opened his eyes slowly. Even the dim lighting of the prison offended his eyes, and he quickly shut them again. His head ached, and he could feel the multiple bruises he had accumulated from his fall. Man, Torres had a powerful punch!

_Torres?...Artie!_

His eyes snapped back open, disregarding the light. Jim found he was still in the chamber where they had first come in, though he was now at the bottom of the steps instead of the top. He was seated, with his back against the wall, hands manacled above him. Turning his head to the right, West found exactly what he had expected to find: Artemus Gordon sat next to him, restrained in a very similar fashion.

James sighed in relief when he saw Artie's eyes were already open. He sent his friend a rueful grin. "Here we are again, eh, Artie?"

Artemus didn't respond. In fact, he didn't even blink.

Jim's smile slowly faded. _Something's_ _wrong_. "Artie?"

"Mr. Gordon will not answer you, Mr. West."

Jim snapped his attention to the wooded platform above and to the front of him. Torres stood there, steely hands wrapped lightly over the unsteady, wooden rail.

Jim felt his anger, as well as his fear, rise. "What did you do to him?!"

Torres made his way down the steps, coming to rest in front of the two prisoners. "Do not fear, he is not...harmed. He has been hypnotized. He is under my control and will do whatever I tell him to."

Jim looked over at his friend, who sat, slumped, eyes staring off into space. "But _why_?"

"Mr. Gordon can tell you that," Torres replied. Then to Artie he said, "Mr. Gordon, explain to Mr. West why I have brought you under my power."

Artie inhaled slowly, as though concentrating on each separate breath. He still stared blankly ahead of him, taking no notice of his partner, even though he was addressing him. "To assist in the assassination of Ulysses S. Grant."

Jim stared at Artemus in disbelief. He fervently hoped Artie was faking; putting on a show for their captor.

Torres reached a hand into his pocket. "which reminds me," he said, coming to kneel beside Artie's motionless form, "We must make sure that you are still truly under my control." He pulled out a long, thin needle. Torres met Jim's gaze. "When under my influence, Mr. Gordon is immune to the pain inflicted by this needle." With that, the villain shoved the pin into Artie's previously injured shoulder with unexpected hostility.

"Artie!"

Artemus didn't react. He didn't even flinch.

Jim glared at Torres. "You hypnotized him before!" he accused. "That's why his shoulder was bleeding!"

"Indeed," Torres thrummed, extracting the needle from the agent and coming to stand in front of the prisoners once more. "I needed Mr. Gordon's assistance."

"In what?"

"Why, in bringing you here, Mr. West."

_Well_, _that_ _explained_ _Artie's_ _strange_ _behavior_. West couldn't help feeling slightly betrayed. He knew, now, that Artie had been controlled by Torres. Artemus had been unable to resist. But Artie was an intelligent man, couldn't he have been able to escape its hold?

"As much as I have enjoyed our little talk, Mr. West," Torres said, cutting in on Jim's thoughts, "I'm afraid I have a few things that must be attended to before Mr. Gordon can be of use to me." The steel assassin climbed the stairs to the old, wooden platform. He paused on the threshold.

"And Mr. West?"

"Yes?"

"There is no escape." He opened the door and left, leaving the two Secret Service agents alone once again.

**,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.**

Silence reigned in the musky prison chamber. Jim had tried, numerous times, to engage Artemus in conversation, but his friend only stared straight ahead, eyes unseeing and ears unhearing. All hope that Artie was pretending had faded to a black depression that only added to the dank, dismal setting.

They sat like that for some time. West tried to slip from his bonds, but the position his shackles restrained him in made that impossible. He soon gave it up, deciding to wait for an opportunity to escape to arise.

That opportunity came shortly after, with the subtle _click_ of the chamber door being unlocked. Jim gazed up at the wooden platform as the door opened to admit none other than Miss Nina Gilbert.

The young woman was still dressed in her showgirl outfit, frilly and not terribly modest. The only difference being that she now wore a large, dark cape draped over her shoulders. She carried a tray with two glasses filled with, what Jim assumed was wine.

She started down the steps, pausing only a moment when the cape slid off her to crumble in a pile on the stair. "Oops."

She made it to the bottom, coming to stand before them. "Hi!" she giggled childishly, "You look funny."

Jim again thought back to how Miss Gilbert had been when he and Artie first met her. She had been smart, well bred, and independent in manner and life style. This girl before him was nothing but a child; trusting to all, living only to smile and laugh. Too naive to see that she could be in terrible danger.

_She's been hypnotized, just like Artie, _Jim realized_._

"Does Torres know you're down here?" Jim asked carefully.

"No, no. He's busy with his wireless box," she answered, setting the tray down on the floor between the two agents.

_Interesting_.

"I don't think it's fair, Mr. Torres punishing you for taking me away this afternoon," she continued, referring to when West had taken her out into the alley. She held up a glass playfully. "Sippy sip?"

"Oh, please," West replied courteously.

She held it up to his lips and he took a drink. It _was_ wine. Once he had taken what he wanted, Nina Gilbert turned to Artemus. The agent payed no attention to her; as if she weren't even there. The confused woman turned a questioning look toward Jim.

"He's hypnotized," Jim explained, sending his partner a worried glance.

"Oh?" Miss Gilbert looked back into Artie's blank, nearly lifeless expression. "Oh, how terrible!"

_You have no idea._

"Is there anything we can do?" Her genuine, child-like concern managed to bring a sad smile to Jim's face. "Perhaps if I snapped my fingers...or tapped his face?"

West only wished it was that simple. "I'm afraid that wouldn't do any good," he said sadly. "Not even the pain of being stabbed by a needle can bring him out of it."

"Oh," Miss Gilbert sighed, laying the glass back on the tray dejectedly.

They both lapsed into silence, each caught up in their own separate thoughts.

Jim's eyes wondered back over to his partner. It was a sad sight. Artie, aware of his situation or not, looked exhausted. To make matters worse, blood from the new needle wound was beginning to seep through his jacket.

_Not_ _even_ _the_ _pain_ _of_ _being_ _stabbed_ _by_ _a_ _needle_ _can_ _bring_ _him_ _out_ _of_ _it_. His own words echoed in his mind persistently, as if they contained something important. Something that refused to be overlooked. Suddenly, James West sat bolt upright, or, at least, as much as his restraints would allow.

"Slap his face!" he demanded, nearly frightening Miss Gilbert to death.

"Slap his face?" she echoed, uncertainly.

"Yes!" Jim answered, wishing he could get free of his chains to do it himself. "Hard!"

Miss Gilbert blinked, debating in her mind whether she should listen to West. It certainly didn't make sense, but if Jim thought it would help, well then...

She brought her arm back and, with as much force as she could muster, slammed it full force against Artie's left cheek.

_SLAP_!

Artemus gave a gasp as his head snapped to the side. His legs curled up toward his chest in a vain attempt to bring his arms down to protect himself. The most encouraging part of his reaction, however, was his loud, angry voice.

"WHAT IN THE-!"

"Artie!" Jim called happily.

Artemus blinked, trying to deal with the stinging, hand-shaped imprint he was almost certain was there. "Jim?..." He squinted in West's direction before realizing that his arms were positioned above his head. "...Uh, this might be a dumb question, but, eh...why are we chained up?" He took in the solemn surroundings, eyes coming to rest on Miss Gilbert. "And what's _she_ doing here?"

Jim explained quickly all that had happened, including Artie's part in their capture. Artie listened attentively, the scientist in him rising in interest.

When West finished Artemus nodded. "So, in other words, that creep hypnotized me into bringing you down here and plans to use me to somehow assassinate the President? Oh, that's just dandy! He's gonna be coming back for me and here we are hang'n like yesterday's wet laundry!"

"Don't worry, Artie," Jim whispered, "I've got a plan of my own..."


	5. The Show Must Go On

"Alright, Artie, you ready?"

They still sat in the gloomy prison basement. It had been at least two hours since their arrival at the Alto Palace; one since Artie had returned to his normal state. Torres was due back any moment, and Jim couldn't help feeling anxious for his partner. Though Artemus was now effectively released from the trance-like mind control Torres had managed to grip him in, West thought his friend still looked very tired...maybe even weak. His shoulder was still bleeding, evidenced by the tell-tale circle of blood staining the clothing surrounding it. It bothered Jim that it continued to spread, indicating that it had not yet closed up. A shoulder wound normally wouldn't bleed that much...Of course, Artie had been stabbed right down to the bone...twice. Jim felt a twinge of guilt at not having been able to save Artie from such an uncomfortable experience.

"Let me get this straight, Jim," Artemus replied,"I'm to pretend that I'm still under hypnosis, play along with Mr. Torres, hope I can figure out how he plans to off the President, and throw a wrench in the works?"

"Exactly."

"Oh," Artie sighed sarcastically, "Is that all?" He sat back wearily against the wall. He twisted his fists around the chains above his manacles to try and ease the discomfort the restraints caused. For some reason, his chains were higher up, pulling his arms up farther than they did to West. Jim's chains were low enough for him to lower his arms, bending them so that his wrists were nearly level with his head. Artie's, on the other hand, were pulled up straight. It was starting to make his wrists sore and his back cramp. "How do we know he won't get me back under his hocus pocus?" he asked, trying to get his mind off his uncomfortable position.

Jim smiled. "Oh, I think you're cured of his tricks. As long as he believes you're still under, he won't attempt to hypnotize you again. If he does, we know how to counteract it." He sent a grin to Miss Gilbert, who still kneeled between them.

"Yeah," Artemus grouched, wishing, not for the last time, that he could rub his throbbing cheek. He was grateful to be released from Torres' power, but he silently wished there had been an easier, less painful way of going about it. He felt guilty too; that he had been the reason for their capture. For all he knew, they might _not_ escape this case alive. Then it would be _his_ fault. _He_ would have been their undoing. The weak link in the chain. Of course, there was nothing he could have done...was there? "By the way, James, how _did_ you know slapping me upside the head would snap me out of the hypnosis?"

"Torres said you were insensitive to the pain of a needle," Jim smiled triumphantly, "He never said you'd be insensitive to any other pain."

"In other words," Artemus smirked, "you guessed."

"Yeah, Artie, I guessed."

"Gee, thanks."

_Click! _The door to the chamber creaked as it was unlocked and slowly began to open. It could only be one person: Torres.

Artie quickly lapsed into, what he hoped, looked like a hypnotic daze. Slumping slightly, he stared off into space, just as Jim had instructed him to do. It wasn't that hard to do. Artie was so tired, the half dead expression came to him in a frighteningly natural manner.

Jim turned his attention to Miss Gilbert, who sat looking between the two of them, face curious and not the least bit worried. "Hide," he whispered urgently, praying she would catch the desperate sound in his voice. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again quickly, sensing that something wasn't right.

"Go over there," Jim hissed, motioning with his head the dark shadows beneath the staircase. "And don't make a sound." To his immense relief, the pretty young woman quickly obliged, scurrying away from them until she was gone from casual sight.

Torres stepped out onto the platform, followed closely by Lopez. He came to the railing, overlooking his prisoners with obvious satisfaction.

"Good to see you are still here, Mr. West," he said, making his way stiffly down the stairs. "You see, it seems you have a reputation for escaping the grasp of your captors. Quite impressive."

Jim gave him a fake smile. "I'm flattered."

Artie watched Torres uneasily in his peripheral vision as the man came to stand before them. He was a big man, crippled and deformed, but still no less a human being than Artie himself, at least in appearance. Mentally, he was a crazed monster, filled only with hate and revenge. Artie could almost feel the suppressed rage coming off Torres in waves. His first encounter with the steel assassin was beginning to come back to him, and Artie found himself being rather frightened. Jim had told him everything he could about his strange behavior while under hypnosis, but it had been lacking in details. But, as Torres neared them, flashes of memory began to come to him...a room...a lamp...and a feeling of great...fear? No hopeless terror. It was all the agent could do to keep himself from shuddering. His acting skills, however, were put to good use and he managed to keep his mild trembling under control. He suddenly became more aware of how much his shoulder ached.

Torres turned to him. "Mr. Gordon?" It took all Artie's energy not to look at the man. "Are you ready?"

"...I am ready..." Artie felt extreme relief when he didn't feel any difference in his mind or body. He truly _was_ free of Torres' hypnosis! But he knew he wasn't out of the woods yet...

"Unchain him," Torres instructed his henchman.

Lopez came forward, taking a ring of keys from his belt. He inserted a particularly small key into the metal wrist restraints and, with a rusty _click, _they released_. _Artie brought his arms down slowly, still acting as if he felt nothing, even though he was desperately resisting the urge to rub his sore wrists.

Jim winced as Lopez grabbed Artie and pulled the agent roughly to his feet. He knew his partner must be in considerable pain, as the action pulled on Artie's injured shoulder. Artemus, however, somehow managed to maintain his dazed state, even though he had gone terribly pale.

"Leave him alone!" Jim yelled, only half acting. They needed Torres to be convinced that Artie was still hypnotized so that he could penetrate the steel assassin's plans.

Torres ignored him, instead eyeing Artemus as the agent stood before him, expression blank and lifeless. He seemed to be taking in every detail of him. Artie had the unsettling impression that Torres could see right through him.

After several moments Torres nodded, as though satisfied with Artie's state of mindless obedience. "Mr. Gordon, you will come with me."

Both agents released breaths they hadn't realized they had been holding.

Torres turned to climb back up the steps, Lopez at his heels as always. Artie sent James a glance once their backs were turned. Jim understood the silent message. It was a 'good luck', if anything, and, in case something went wrong, a 'good bye'. West nodded his reply.

Artie followed the two villains up to the platform. Jim marveled at how well Artemus was able to act the part. If Jim didn't know better, he would have believed that Artie _was_ still under Torres' power. The smooth, almost gliding way he walked, staring into nothing as though he were blind to the world around him, was enough to cause Jim to shudder. He only hoped Artie could keep it up.

The two captors and their willing prisoner exited the chamber, closing the wooden door with a dull _thud_. James West sat in the silence once more. Now, to start working on his escape. After all, he had an 'impressive' reputation to maintain...

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**This was the last chapter I wrote while in New Hampshire.**


	6. Temptations and Tests

Artemus could feel his anxiety rise as he followed Torres and Lopez up through the dark tunnels beneath the Alto Palace. The way was twisted and they turned many times to the left and right, but Artie knew where they were headed; Torres' upper room. The room Artie now remembered as the place he had been forced into a chair. Held down so he could not shield himself from the painful light. Flashing. Flashing. Hypnotized. It was still all a bit fuzzy, like the faded memories of a nearly forgotten dream...or nightmare. A nightmare that, with every step he took, was becoming more and more clear.

The agent noticed, with mild surprise, that Torres and his henchman led the way, letting Artie trail behind them. They were not the least bit worried that he would try and escape. They didn't even glance back at him, expecting him to follow, unguarded. After all, he _was_ supposedly under the assassin's power. To them he was completely harmless. A shadow of a man who would follow without question. Without control.

They walked by many passageways, some leading to the outside, evidenced by their slightly more illuminated walls and the fresh air that wafted down them. Artemus fought the urge to slink away from the villainous duo and make a quick getaway. It would be fairly easy. All he'd need to do would be to step quietly to the side, and when the assassin and his lackey turned the next bend, he could escape. But he couldn't do that. He had a mission to complete. The urge was strong as they passed yet another avenue of freedom, but he managed to resist it.

They made there way up into the saloon/casino where Jim and Artie had first come across the 'missing' Miss Gilbert. It was empty now; not a person in sight. The games and bar were bare. Cards and chips lay, neatly stacked in piles on the tables. All the glasses were washed and carefully placed on their shelf behind the bar table. But the most prominent feature of the place, was the absolute silence. There wasn't a sound. It was like some outpost, far out in the recesses of the world, where no human walked or breathed. To say that it was unnerving would be an understatement. Catching a glimpse of the sky from a nearby window, Artie realized it was dark out. _How long have Jim and I been here?_

Making their way to the other side of the room, they slowly climbed the flight of stairs leading up to the window-encased room above. To Artie, each step was one inch closer to a dreadful fear. It was like walking over hot coals only to come to a pit of rattlers. _How do I get myself into these things?_

Finally, they reached the top. Torres and Lopez opened the door and entered, parting once they were inside, allowing Artemus to get in front of them. Artie did so, and had to fight another wave of panic as he heard the door firmly shut behind him. Artemus stood stock still, eyes staring blankly, and breathing as slow and steady as he could manage. He heard no movement behind him for a moment, making him wonder if perhaps Torres and his lackey had left. That hope faded immediately as the low, heavy thud of footsteps slowly approached him.

Torres inspected his prisoner. The agent _looked_ like he was still under his power. Artemus' dark brown eyes were void, as though he had no mind of his own at all. His mouth hung slightly open, as if he were too weak to close it. His stance was straight, but tired, as if at any moment the man might collapse. Lastly, was Artie's complexion, which was terribly pale. It contrasted sharply with his dark hair and shadowed eyes. The Secret Service agent looked worn, in both body and spirit; clothes wrinkled and dirty, and blood staining his right shoulder. Torres looked convinced.

The steel assassin gave a satisfied nod as he strode over to the small table were he kept his drinks. Artie felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Torres began talking as he poured himself a glass of whisky. "How are you feeling, Mr. Gordon?"

The question completely threw Artie off, causing his mind to whirl. He wasn't sure what to say. Torres was obviously giving him one last test before trusting the agent with his secret. All Artie had to do was answer a small, seemingly harmless question...but if it was the wrong answer...If he said _fine_, that would sound too everyday, and Torres would figure him out for sure...if he hadn't already. And if Artie said _tired_, which was the truth, that would show he could still feel like a normal person, and, going by what Jim had told him, that would be a mistake as well. Torres turned to look at the agent, expecting an answer.

"...I feel nothing..." Artie said, his voice lifeless; monotone and slow. He prayed that was the right answer.

It seemed it was. Torres nodded. "Good. Good, Mr. Gordon." He set down his glass, still partially full, and came to stand directly in front of Artie. He was so close it made Artemus uncomfortable. He wanted to step back a pace, but knew doing so would not only end his charade as a poor, hypnotized sap, as well as his mission that depended solely on his success. "Are you ready to hear what your part is in my plans?" Torres asked, eyes boring into him like a knife.

Artie deliberately took a slow breath before answering. "...Yes."

To Artie's relief, Torres walked back to the center of the room, standing by the cluster of furniture that resided there. The furnishings looked...familiar...A table, a chair, a lamp..._A lamp..._Artie realized it was _the _lamp, the one that had started this whole mess. He took in its paneled sides and fancy design. It looked so harmless; so ordinary...but Artie knew better. It made him feel uneasy, being near the mind controlling device once more. He nearly, _nearly,_ flinched when Torres idly lay a hand on the lampshade. Luckily, the assassin didn't notice his captive's distress as he continued his business with his prisoner.

"I am working on a device that will get rid of the President, and your resilient Mr. West, once and for all. You, being somewhat of a man of science, as well as an established inventor, will assist me by perfecting my weapon. Do you understand?"

_Weapon? What kind of weapon? Darn it, Jim, where are you?!_ "...I understand."

"Good," Torres said again, a ghost of a smile playing about his thin lips. "I have no doubt that you will banish the last few quirks that it suffers. Lopez?"

The henchman stepped forward.

"Take Mr. Gordon to the room with my little...innovation."

"Yes, Sir." Lopez turned and headed back for the door, opening it and standing ready. Artie remained where he was, knowing that he had to wait until Torres told him to move directly.

"You may now leave." The words sent a chill up and down Artie's spine. Those were the exact same words that..._ Can't think of that now,_ Artemus chided himself. Jim was counting on him. The people of Alto Nuevo were counting on him. Heck, the President of the United States was counting on him! He couldn't fail. He couldn't.

Artemus turned slowly and followed Lopez out the door.

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**These chapters always tend to be shorter then I intend. (Sigh) I guess that's alright. :) More's on the way!**


	7. Working Against Time

"Under the lapel in my vest there's a pencil."

"Oh?" Miss Nina Gilbert said, face lighting up in childish curiosity.

"Mm-hmm."

As soon as Torres had left, the young woman had come out from her dark hiding spot. She looked completely unconcerned. Everything to her was a game; life was without worry. Now she sat beside Jim, fluttering her long eyelashes and smiling, like they weren't in the dungeon of a madman who was planning on killing the President of the United States. She gave a sweet grin as she leaned in to inspect the area West had just indicated.

Jim kissed her lightly as she came close, and she certainly didn't seem to mind. Jim had always been quite the ladies man. No matter what age, profession, or class, they always fell at his feet. They gravitated to him live countless birds flocking about a fresh water spring. It often came in handy; the weak link in many a villain's plan, but Jim always found it quite enjoyable as well.

Miss Gilbert giggled gleefully as she moved her attention from Jim's face to the material of his vest. Carefully, with her thin, delicate fingers, she upturned the fabric to reveal an odd looking pencil. "Oh!" she cooed joyfully, almost as if she had walked into the room and found a puppy. She held up the object smiling and gazing at it expectantly.

"Now take it and put it in the lock," Jim said gently, giving her one of his most winning smiles, "and press the button on the end of the pencil." He looked directly into her eyes. They were so close he could feel her breath on his face. It was warm and clean, and she smelled like roses.

Nina started to move to rise to her feet, but then came back to his level. "W-what'll happen if I do?"

Jim knew he had to tell her something that would make her either curious enough, or excited enough to do what he wanted. He thought of things that would provoke such a response from a child. "There'll be a light. Like fireworks." _Not exactly a lie._

Miss Gilbert sat back, eyes wide in surprise, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Honest?"

"Honest," Jim said, attempting to look as innocent as possible.

"Ooh!," she breathed, daintily holding the pencil in her right hand. She let a little shiver of joy run through her. "That'll be fun." She gave a little giggle, then, leaning forward, she inserted the tip of the pencil into his right hand manacle.

There was a bright flash, accompanied by a sound not unlike soft thunder. Miss Gilbert jumped back in surprise, dropping the pencil. For the first time since he had met her, Jim saw fear in her eyes.

"It's alright," he assured her, yanking his wrist free of the now completely demolished restraint. He gave her a smile as he reached for the discarded pencil. He jabbed it into his left hand manacle, with the same result.

Miss Gilbert, though still leery of the object in West's hand, quickly regained her childish manner. She watched as Jim freed himself and stood to his feet. She accepted his assistance in helping her rise, and, cocking her head at him she asked, "What do we do know?"

"We find a way out of here," Jim replied. He scanned their prison, eyes searching for an avenue of escape.

"Oh, that's easy," Nina Gilbert smiled. She pointed to the door on the platform above them. "We can go out there."

West didn't like that idea in the least. Even though there was no guard posted, evidenced by Miss Gilbert's free access to the cell, Jim felt he couldn't risk running into anyone in the tunnels. "No," he said kindly, trying not to sound rude to the sensitive young woman, "No, there must be another way out..."

"Oh, there is," Nina said happily.

"Where?"

"Near where I was hiding." She pointed to the corner and Jim spied the passageway hidden within the shadows.

"Perfect." West grabbed her wrist and took off running down the tunnel. She didn't give any resistance, though she did giggle repeatedly, wearing at Jim's patience. He vaguely wondered if he could cure Nina's hypnosis the same way they had cured Artie's, but he banished that thought at once. He was not in the habit of hitting woman, and he wasn't about to start now.

...

Artemus Gordon sighed shakily when he was finally left alone. Lopez had escorted him to another room, on the same level as the casino, where Artie had been instructed to finish Torres' weapon. Lopez had given him a couple grumbled explanations and commands as to what needed to be done, but, even so, Artie had almost no idea what Torres expected him to do.

When the assassin's henchman finally turned to go, shutting the door behind him, Artie nearly collapsed in relief. It had been starting to get more and more difficult for him to keep up his act. The constant staring, for one thing, made his already aching scull feel like it was in a vice. His eyes felt dried out and sore. He seriously needed to rest, but knew that pleasure would be a long time in coming. He winced as wave after wave of pain rooled through his head, like ocean surf crashing repeatedly against a rock cliff. It didn't help any that he had felt very near to a panic attack the whole time he had been with Torres. There was no doubt about it: he was scared stiff of that steel-plated lunatic, and there was no denying that.

Artie ran a shaking hand through his dark hair, attempting to reign in his thoughts so he could focus on the job at hand.

Lopez had brought him into a small laboratory. Tables piled high with papers, beakers, a microscope, and other things even Artemus couldn't identify, adorned each wall. The walls themselves were stone, with no windows to be seen. In fact, the room was far darker than Artie would have liked. There was one lamp, on one of the tables, but that only supplied a small amount of light.

Artie shifted his gaze to the large object, or more correctly, objects, in the far right hand corner. Torres' weapon, or so Lopez had indicated. Artie came to stand beside it, the scientist in him rising as he studied it.

There were three main bulks of the set. Two identical, obviously rockets of some sort, not all that unlike an enormous firework, and enormous they were. Even in the dim lighting, Artie could see the intricate design of the red and white, steel canisters.

_Alright, so his plan involves explosives, but what's this?_ Artie turned his attention to the third object. Large in size, though not as delicately made as the rockets, it resembled some sort of command console. Thick, bulky and heavy, it was definitely not made for looks, but durability. It was tall, coming up to his belt, and was made of, what looked like steel. It sported two dark levers, as well as a small collection of metal buttons. Altogether, it looked quite imposing.

_It must control something...but what?_ Artie's head ached even more as his puzzled brain tried to tie the three objects together. He inspected each rocket, searching for anything that could somehow connect them together, metaphorically or physically. He was disappointed when he couldn't figure it out. He credited his jumbled, unfocused thought to his exhaustion.

_What am I doing?!_ he chided himself bitterly. _I don't have to know how it works to sabotage it!_ Darn his curiosity! He had always been a man who wasn't satisfied that something worked, but insisted on always knowing _why_ it worked. That satisfaction he would have to go without this time, however. Time was running out.

"Alright," Artie said aloud, trying to gather his thoughts once more. "Let's work with what I _do_ know and understand. Rockets..." He turned to the smooth-sided items. He had had a lot of experience with explosives, having been the proud inventor and builder of his and Jim's well known smoke bombs, as well as an asortment of other nifty gadgets. Gun powder was a common element in those devices, and, Artie guessed, in the two big rockets beside him as well. _This shouldn't be to hard._ He'd have to work fast though.

Kneeling on the floor, Artemus searched the metal sides of the cold cylinders. He quickly discovered a hatch on each one, and, with a little work, he managed to pry them open. He gazed with grim curiosity at the innards of the weapons. There was indeed gunpowder inside. A _lot_ of gunpowder; in fact, the thing was practically brimming with the black dust. Artie noticed that the inside walls were also patterned with small wires; hundreds of them. They zigged and zagged all around its interior, above and buried beneath the powder.

Artie wasn't sure how these wires could be in any way useful. After all, they weren't connected to anything else. They certainly weren't connected to the console. He shook his head, clearing the questions away once again. _Worry about that later._

Carefully, he began to empty all the gunpowder from within the rockets. He knew they would be useless without it. Even it the wired mechanics of the missals were able to function, they would be about as harmless as a music box without the explosive power of the powder behind it.

Artie found a loose board in the flooring of the room. He managed to pull it open so he could discard the powder somewhere where it wouldn't be found. When he finished he placed the board back, making sure that no sign of his project was left.

He stood back a moment, thinking. _These rockets will be considerably lighter without the gunpowder inside them...I need to replace the weight, so it won't be missed..._

After some searching he found enough odds and ends around the laboratory to fill both missals. The weight might not be exact, but he hoped it would be close enough that Torres wouldn't notice. Artie snapped the hatches on the rockets back in place, finishing just as he heard footsteps approach outside the door.

Quickly lapsing back into his 'hypnotized' persona, Artie prepared himself for whoever was about to enter.

It turned out to be Lopez, coming to fetch him back to Torres' upper room. Reluctant in heart, but obedient in appearance, Artie followed Lopez out, casting a nervous glance back at the rockets. He hoped he had done enough. He hoped he wouldn't be discovered. He hoped Jim had escaped. He hoped they'd all make it out of this alive...He hoped a lot of things.

_They don't pay us agents enough..._

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**There we go, another chapter. I won't be posting as often as I have been from now on. I'm going back to college the day after tomorrow, and time will become scarce, but do not fear, I WILL keep writing and post when I can. :)**


	8. It's Never Easy

The trip back to Torres' room was no less torturous then the last. Again Artemus felt his heart pound in his chest as, with each step, he slowly stepped back into perhaps one of the most dangerous performances of his career. This audience was cruel and evil. One mistake would be the end of his act...and probably his life.

He stood in his spot, ashen faced and stiff, the lifeless expression only half fabricated. Artie felt truly drained. He was on his last leg, and he knew it. With every once of his remaining strength, Artemus fired his theatrical spirit. He _had_ to keep going.

Torres was once again pouring over the knowledge stored in the shelves of books in his small, but extensive, library. He seemed to have trouble turning the pages, due to his stiff, steel-plated hands, but years of practice helped him successfully accomplish the task with only minor complication.

He turned, taking in his henchman and his returning prisoner at a glance. Again, Artie felt as if the assassin's cold eyes pierced right through him. It made his mind snap to the treachery he had just committed against this monster. It sent a shutter through him. If Torres ever found out...or already knew...

"Ah, Mr. Gordon," Torres said courteously, as if greeting an old friend. "I assume you have finished your task in the time that I gave you." It was a question, not a statement.

"I have finished," Artie replied, tonelessly.

"Good." Torres closed the large, musty volume he had been reading with a deep _thud_ and a light cloud of dust. He placed it back in its place on the shelf. "Very good indeed." He then turned to Lopez, giving a nod. "You may go and fetch Mr. West."

Lopez turned and left, leaving Torres and an increasingly uncomfortable Artemus. Torres turned to some papers on his table, completely ignoring Artie's presents. It made sense. After all, Artemus _was_ supposed to be a mindless minion, and there was no point in talking to him when there was nothing to talk _about_.

Something bothered Artie though; something that started as a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. It needled and prodded him, until he finally realized, standing in the assassin's upper room, what it was. Torres wasn't _questioning_ him. He wasn't checking to see if Artie had done what he said he had, or even whether Artemus was still hypnotized. It seemed odd. Not that Artie _wanted_ to be jabbed with the needle once more. It just didn't sit right.

For a terrible moment, Artemus believed Torres might already know what he had done; knew he was faking. The assassin might have sent Lopez to go check on the rockets! Then he and Jim were as good as dead!

_Calm down, Artemus_, Artie though to himself, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. _He can't know. He would have addressed the issue by now. He would have revealed his knowledge about my deception to me._ It wasn't much to go on, but Artie felt he was right. At least, he hoped he was right. So what was keeping Torres from suspecting him? What was keeping him from stabbing that metal prod into his prisoner again?

Artie thought for a long moment. Then it hit him. _He's prideful! _Artie nearly let a smile slip onto his face. _Torres is so sure that his plan is perfect, so sure that his hypnosis is flawless, and so sure that he can't be defeated that he's slipping! _The thought was comforting, and, in a way, extremely enlightening. Torres, though partially machine, was still a human...and humans made mistakes.

Artie's thoughts, as well as Torres' studies, were abruptly interrupted when Lopez suddenly burst back into the room. His face was a mixture of anger and fear. "Mr. Torres! Mr. West has escaped!"

If Torres felt any emotion, he didn't show it in his posture or facial expression, but his eyes...those terrible eyes flashed a fire that made Artemus want to back out of the chamber. He nodded slowly, uttering only a slow, threatening command.

"Find him."

Well, at least Artie was sure now that Lopez hadn't been checking on the rockets...

...

The tunnel was far more rocky than the well-cut passageways beneath the Alto Palace. Its walls were crude, cut into the living stone haphazardly, causing the sides to be sharp, bulging and uneven. The lighting was practically non-existent; dim and weak to say the least. The ground was dirt; dark, wet soil. Thankfully, it was more level than what might have been expected.

James West ran headlong through the twisting passage, hoping to find an exit at any moment to the world above. Jim pulled Nina Gilbert along by her hand. She stumbled and tripped after him, trying her best to keep up with his nearly frantic pace. "Ah, Mr. West," she huffed as the traveled, trying to steady herself before she could fall. Jim continued, either ignoring her, or too wrapped up in their escape to comprehend her words.

Normally, West was a very calm, cool and collected man. He hardly ever hurried or rushed, unless the situation called for otherwise.

This was one of those times.

Jim knew, though Artie was a fantastic actor, that his partner wouldn't be able to keep up the act for long. The image of his friend chained beside him, weak and bleeding, urged West to escape and aid Artie before it was too late. Torres had stabbed Artemus with a needle when Artie was a 'friend'; Jim couldn't imagine what the assassin would do to an enemy.

Jim and Miss Gilbert raced along the tunnel, turning and stopping abruptly as it came to a sudden end. The passage opened out into a circular cavern; small, but obviously used more often then the rest of the maze. A large, foaming pool of dark water yawned before them.

Jim's eyes swept over the scene before him, a feeling of dread beginning to knot in his stomach. "Dead end," he muttered, searching for an alternative route. His eyes widened as the last voice he wanted to hear broke the silence.

"A most appropriate comment, Mr. West."

The voice was without body, coming from somewhere where the speaker was out of sight, but very close. Emotionless and strangely mechanic, it could only belong to one man: Torres, the Steel Assassin.

Suddenly, a thick, white fog began to be pumped into the chamber. West momentarily noticed the hidden piping in the walls from which it flowed, before he started to cough. It surrounded them, billowing out and filling the chamber from floor to ceiling. It was odorless, but it was heavy, like a very humid day, making the air feel as though it contained barely just enough oxygen to support life. Jim's lungs began to burn, as he coughed harder, trying to expel the mist from his chest. He placed an arm across his mouth and nose in a vain attempt to protect himself.

Beside him, Miss Gilbert coughed lightly, not nearly as close to the source as Jim himself was, but still close enough to be affected by the foul substance. Her face filled with confusion as her vision began to swim and breathing became harder. She lay a hand faintly to her forehead, staggering backward, before she collapsed limply to the ground.

Jim saw her fall, but was too preoccupied with his own labored breath and spinning mind to be of any help to her. He tried to steady himself against the stone cave wall, but that proved to be futile as well. West slowly sank to his knees as the overpowering gas choked consciousness from him. He toppled over as he lost the battle to stay awake, his last though reverberating in his dizzy brain.

_This is_ very_ bad..._

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**Short chapter, I know, but I wanted to keep writing even while in college. I wrote most of this while eating lunch a school, with a sandwich in one hand and a pen in the other. ;) **


	9. Motivations and Mistakes

Artemus Gordon watched the unconscious forms of James West and Nina Gilbert anxiously. They were back in Torres' room. Lopez had dragged the two, one at a time, into the chamber, dumping them unceremoniously on the carpeted floor. It was all Artie could do to refrain from punching the lackey in the face.

Lopez had also, through a series of trips, managed to lug the rockets and control panel there as well. He set the two rockets onto long poles outside the window, one on either side. They sat there, perched like so many fireworks that lay awaiting President Grant's arrival to Alto Nuevo. The control console remained in the room, positioned so it was facing the window.

Artie's eyes searched his friends, quickly trying to determine if they had been harmed in any way. Jim seemed fine; his chest slowly rising and falling with each steady breath. Besides a few bruises from his fall down the stairs earlier combined with his passing out on a hard cave floor, Jim seemed unharmed.

Nina Gilbert, however, was terribly pale. Her thick, blond hair frizzed about her ashen face, making her look untidy, though no less beautiful. Artie felt a stab of concern as he noticed the thin, but steadily flowing ribbon of crimson blood. It trickled down from a cut on her forehead; most likely a product of fainting from the knock out gas and falling upon a rock. Artie couldn't tell how serious it was, but he wished with all his being that he could get a closer look and aid the young woman.

Outside the Alto Palace a great noise erupted as the townspeople greeted the President. Streamers and pennants waved in the gentle breeze as the horse-drawn wagon approached through the arch of the village. An immense banner was strewn over the gateway. It read:

_Welcoming President Grant to Alto Nuevo!_

Crowds cheered as Grant rode by, standing upon the moving platform and tipping his top hat to the friendly inhabitants. On either side of the stately figure two guards were posted, ensuring the President's welfare...or so they believed. They continued in ignorant bliss, unaware of the dangerous weapons pointed in their direction, nor the hate of an evil villain who's will for revenge was focused on them as well.

Torres grinned as the sounds of joy and celebration drifted up to his private chamber. The steel-plated man turned back to his unconscious prisoners. "Tie her to the chair," Torres instructed, motioning to Miss Gilbert. Artie thought he saw a slight glimmer of anger in the assassin's eyes. He must have been upset to find his 'faithful' puppet in the company of James West. Perhaps his skills in the art of hypnosis weren't as flawless as he had believed...

Lopez set his gun on the tray table and lifted Nina off the floor and into a chair. The same chair, in fact, that Artie had been forced into before. Tying the woman's wrists firmly to the arms of the seat, Lopez turned back to his master.

Torres then nodded to West. "Secure Mr. West from the rafter."

Again, Artemus fought the urge to pummel Lopez as the henchman roughly hauled Jim to his feet. James was just beginning to come around, moaning and blinking blearily. He was able to stand, though unsteadily, as Torres' minion pulled his arms up over his head and tied them tightly to one of the many wooden roof beams that held the Alto Palace together. It was directly in from of the window, though partially behind and to the right of the console. Luckily for Jim, the ceiling wasn't terribly high. Even so, the agent's feet were held just far enough of the ground that West swung back and forth slightly. If he stretched his legs and feet, he might just barely touch the floor. It looked like an overall very uncomfortable position.

Jim's eyes flickered once more before finally blinking open. He seemed groggy, but was quickly gaining his senses.

"Ah, Mr. West," Torres greeted, "I am pleased that you are still in my company. Your escape attempt was very noble, I assure you, but, as I said, you cannot escape the likes of men like me."

James West's eyes wandered around the room, assessing his surroundings as his memories of their situation began to become clear to him once more. He took in Artie's pale features with concern. That concern grew when he noticed Miss Gilbert's condition. She lay tied to the chair, limp and lifeless, blood evident on her colorless face. Jim sent Torres a angry glare.

"The time has come, Mr. West," Torres thrummed. "The end; the climax of years and years of research and planning."

"And just what is that plan, Torres?" Jim growled, "The murder of innocent lives?"

Torres ignore his statement. "I'm sure you must appreciate, , the number of years, the number of experiments before remote wireless control was perfected by me."

Artie's ears pricked up at once. _Remote wireless control?! So that's how the box connects to the fuses! They must be activated by some sort of wave pattern or sound signal..._Artie didn't have a clue how such a device would work. After all, it was years ahead of anything Artie had ever seen, or ever even heard about. _He's a genius! A raving lunatic, but a genius!_

"I was rich with time," Torres continued, "Saturated with it." He pulled a lever on the metal console and one of the rockets outside slowly turned to aim directly at the now stationary wagon and the President. The assassin walked up to West, pointing to the open window. "A grandstand seat, Mr. West- you should be pleased."

"It's about the kind of plan I'd expect a madman to devise," Jim said evenly, keeping the gaze between him and Torres steady.

Torres seemed slightly offended by the Secret Service agent's statement. "Oh, no, not madness, Mr. West," he replied calmly. "Just a man methodically balancing the scales of justice."

"Revenge?" Jim knew that was what it all came down to.

Again Torres evaded answering directly. His eyes took on a far away look as he replied. "I lived through a score of operations. No no, it was two score. And each day and each night, as I sweated through the the pain of living, I kept saying to myself, "It should have been one of them."

"Another officer should have been on duty that night..." James was beginning to fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle.

"One of us had to stand guard at the town arsenal...We drew cards..." Torres turned to West, a shadow of a sad smile hinting at the corners of his mouth.

"And you lost."

"I was the first one to draw. I drew a jack...What are the odds that six other men would be able to beat that draw? Hmm?" The assassin glared at him, waiting for West to answer.

Jim thought a moment then said, "High, but not impossible."

"They cheated."

"You still can't blame them for the arsenal blowing up," James declared, narrowing his eyes.

"An enemy cannonball caused the explosion," Torres said, matter-of-factly. "But the odds should have been seven to one that I would be at the party enjoying myself instead of screaming in agony among the arsenal ruins." His eyes twitched at the memory.

Jim glanced out the window at the gathering taking place outside. "Your idea, I suppose, to bring the wagon right down the main street?"

"The town council considered my suggestion a brilliant stroke of showmanship, paying proper tribute to the president." Torres smirked as he walked stiffly back to the control console. "My original plan, Mr. West, was to have both rockets explode on the wagon. I'm afraid I shall have to settle for one exploding there now." He pulled a lever and the second rocket changed position to face the window.

"The other over this way, I see," Jim observed gravely.

"In the head of each rocket, Mr. West, is ten times the explosive force of normal gunpowder. A concoction of my own invention. I mention this only to assure you that your death will come rather swiftly."

The whole time this exchange was taking place, Artie, taking advantage of Lopez and Torres' turned backs, had carefully made his way toward Miss Gilbert. He didn't like the way she looked. _Probably a concussion_, he thought bitterly. He hated seeing another person in pain. It brought to mind the countless lives he had seen lost or crippled during the war between the states. It was an unpleasant memory; one he'd rather forget.

Keeping an ear to the conversation going on by the window, Artie carefully bent over the unconscious woman. Placing his fingers lightly against her throat, he noticed the strong, steady heartbeat with relief. He turned his attention to the cut above her left eyebrow. It looked quite nasty, in that it continued to ooze from the wound, dark and thick. The gash itself was surrounded by a large purple bruise and was covered with bits of dirt and sand. It needed a good cleaning, that much was certain, but that, at the moment, would be impossible.

Artie wasn't concerned with the rockets, knowing that they were completely harmless. Even though all the electronics of the devices were still intact, they were useless with the enhanced gunpowder removed. The most Torres would be able to do would be to point the rockets around, but detonating them would be a futile effort. Artie felt a little guilty that he couldn't tell Jim of the weapon's powerless state, but that too was impossible at the moment.

Artemus was suddenly jolted from his thoughts as a burning pain suddenly erupted in his right shoulder. With a cry of pain he turned, stumbling away from the chair.

**...**

**Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! It encourages me and motivates me to continue. :) School doesn't seem to be slowing me down too badly. :) We're getting to the climax, two or three chapters more left most likely. THANKS AGAIN!**


	10. The Confrontation

Artemus gasped as he tumbled back, struggling to reach the object embedded in the back of his shoulder. His entire upper body burned with a fire-like pain, but even so the agent managed to chide his stupidity. He had been a fool! Turning his back on the villains had been his first mistake. The second had been he had let his mind wander, causing him to lose track of his surroundings, as well as the danger that had sneaked up behind him.

Lopez had happened to turn and notice Artie's administrations to Miss Gilbert. The agent's back had been facing him, and the henchman's natural gravitation toward inflicting pain had kicked in.

It was a needle, Artie realized, finally succeeding in getting his shaking hand upon it and pulling it from his body. Where Lopez had gotten an identical needle to the one Torres owned was beyond Artie's knowledge. Though, at the moment, Artemus didn't really care _where_ the prod had come from. He had bigger problems to contend with.

"I see you are 'awake', Mr. Gordon." The voice was dark and menacing. Artie shifted his frightened and pained eyes from an evilly grinning Lopez to the steely, emotionless face of Torres.

Artie froze. His fear escalated to being nearly unbearable, and he started shaking uncontrollably.

Torres shook his head sadly. "It seems you have outlived your use, Mr. Gordon. I'm afraid your assistance is no longer needed. Good bye, Mr. Gordon." He turned and nodded to Lopez, who's ugly face lit up in anticipation as he moved toward the motionless agent.

"Artie!"

Jim's voice broke into Artemus' thoughts. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Artie came to himself just as Lopez lunged for him. He noticed, with alarm, that the lackey now had a large knife in his hand. Jumping swiftly to the side, Artie barely escaped having his chest sliced open. Pounding Lopez' back with the fist of his uninjured arm, Artie sent the man stumbling to the left. Even so, the action shot stabs of pain through the limb. Blood soaked into his white shirt, mixing with the crimson that was already there, only this time, there was more. Lopez had shoved the needle hard from the back, though not as low as Torres had, thereby missing the shoulder bone entirely. The needle had entered through the back, and had come out the front. It had gone right through him.

Lopez regained his balance, making another go at the agent with a vicious snarl. Artie turned to the side delivering a painful kick to the henchman's chest. It was a clumsy motion; Artie never having really been much of a fighter. He was more the brains of their team; West was the brawn, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Lopez gasped and fell to his knees. Artie, being the man that he was, didn't attack, expecting the man to either pass out or give up. When Lopez suddenly jumped to his feet, slicing the air with his blade, Artie was more them slightly surprised. Again leaping to the side, Artie managed to escape any serious damage. The knife, however, caught his left wrist, leaving a thin, red scratch; nothing dangerous, but unpleasant nonetheless.

Artemus' fatigue was beginning to show. His movement were slow and uncoordinated. Each breath was a desperate pant for air, and he could feel his legs shaking with exhaustion, threatening to collapse at any moment.

Lopez, on the other hand, seemed to have a boundless supply of energy coursing through him. He punched, stabbed and kicked at the agent, every attempt closer to being a victory.

Artie knew he could't hold out much longer. He hissed as another small cut was made across his elbow. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Torres, standing tall and motionless, watching.

Jim could no longer see his partner. Artie and Lopez had moved out of his visual range at the beginning of the fight, standing behind West as he hung, facing the window, from the rafters. Jim was listening though. Listening to the shuffling feet, the grunts of exertion and, once in a while, a small gasp of pain. Jim hated every minute of it. He hated not being able to help Artie. Hated being strung up like flag, hanging there, useless. He could tell from Artie's ragged breathing that his friend was not doing well, and Jim hated that too.

As Artemus dodged yet another swipe of the dangerous blade, his eyes fell on an object he had completely forgotten about. On the coffee table, right next to that dreaded lamp, was Lopez' gun. The minion had set it there and had, just like Artie, forgotten it. Knowing it was his only chance, Artemus made a rush for the weapon. Lopez caught on to his intentions at once and sprang after him. Just as Artie felt his fingers wrap around the smooth, metal object he felt a tremendous kick to his back as Lopez used all his strength to down the agent. Artemus fell to the ground, the gun skittering a few yards from him.

"Artie?!" Jim hadn't seen the fall, but he _had_ heard it. He desperately tried to crane his neck in a way that would enable him to see what was happening.

Artie's head swam as the throbbing pain in his back combined with the stabbing pain in his shoulder. Darkness hovered on the edge of his vision and, for a moment, he thought he was going to pass out. His eyes cleared just in time to see Lopez striding forward, the knife raised and ready to plunge into the Secret Service agent's heart.

Desperation is often a motivation. It makes a person do that which they never thought they could. Do what, to anyone else, maybe even themselves, was thought impossible. That gun was too far. That knife was too close. But somehow, despite the agony it caused, Artemus rolled to the side. The blade tore into the carpeted floor; Lopez stumbling as he tried to regain his balance. Artie reached the gun just as the henchman pulled the knife free.

_BANG!_

"Artie!"

Lopez stood motionless for a moment, as if nothing had happened. Then, slowly, the knife fell from his hand and he collapsed to the floor; dead.

Artie nearly collapsed with relief himself. He struggled to his feet, his body screaming as exhaustion and injuries flared with pain made themselves known with a vengeance. "Right here, Jim," he replied to his friend's panicked cry. "I'm alright." Though he certainly didn't feel 'alright'.

"Mr. Gordon, you have succeeded in trying my patience."

_Oh no..._

In his fight with Lopez, Artemus had completely forgotten about Torres. Whipping around, gun at the ready, Artie found that the assassin had moved to stand beside the table. Artie's face paled when he noticed Torres had a hand on the lamp. "No, d-don't..." But before Artie could do anything, Torres gave the lampshade a gentle push.

The white and black pattern filled Artie's vision. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Again that misty, fogging feeling began to fill Artie's mind. Thoughts started to jumble as his weak grasp on his will began to loosen. This time, however, Artie fought. Like a man clinging to a cliff side, he grasped his self control, gripping it with every ounce of his remaining strength. He couldn't let Torres win! He had to fight!

"Give in, Mr. Gordon," Torres' voice droned, furthering the dark cloud in Artie's brain.

"N-no!"

"You can't win."

"Artie!" _That's Jim's voice..._ "Artie, listen to me! Don't give up! Fight!" His partner's voice sounded far away and muffled, but it still made it through, bringing back just enough clarity for Artie to think. His mind went back to his first hypnosis. His betrayal of Jim. He hadn't meant to. The dungeon. Miss Gilbert...Miss Gilbert had hit him...pain. Pain! That was the answer! A sharp pain was what he needed to break the hypnosis, and, unfortunately, his current injuries were not sufficient. Pain had to be induced after the hypnosis was under way!

Pulling his mind as far from the chasm of hopelessness that loomed within him, Artie managed to see that he still held the gun in his hand. He had let his arm fall to his side. It took an immense amount of energy, but Artie was able to shift the gun so that the barrel rested against his leg. Taking a deep breath...he pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

The pain was excruciating. It felt like fire was being pumped into him, sending agony all through him, from the top of his head down to his toes. Blood poured from the hole he had created in his upper thigh. But it worked. His mind cleared immediately. All the fog dissipated, leaving Artie; plain old, bleeding and exhausted Artie. Raising the gun with a shaking hand he leveled it at Torres. "Y-you've lost, Sir." His voice was rough and strained, but Jim was relieved to hear it. "It's over."

Torres smirked. "But you're wrong, Mr. Gordon. My rockets are armed and ready. With one pull of a lever the leader of this country will be dead. All your hopes and dreams of a new America will be blown sky high."

Artemus shook his head tiredly. "No, Mr. Torres. N-no it will not. I emptied them of all the gunpowder. They're nothing but empty s-shells."

"No, you're lying. You were under my-"

"Hypnosis? No, I wasn't. I haven't b-been since the dungeon. You made a mistake, Torres. You were so c-confident in your own power, that you didn't even check to make sure your plan hadn't gone astray." Artemus gave a weak smile. "And even if you d-did try to reach that console, you'd be dead before you could pull the lever."

Torres remained still a moment, processing the information. Suddenly he shoved the coffee table over, forcing Artie to jump back as the lamp smashed to the floor at his feet. Before Artemus could stop him, Torres fled the room.

Picking up Lopez' knife and stumbling over to Jim, Artie cut his friend's bonds free before sinking to his knees.

"Artie!" Jim kneeled beside him, trying to asses the damage.

"I-I'm alright, Jim," Artie stuttered, gripping his leg as blood seeped through his pants. He motioned to the door with his head. "G-go get him, Jim."

West hesitated for a moment, but Artie was right. Someone had to get Torres. "I'll be right back." He jumped up and ran out of the room.

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Torres moved swiftly through the tunnels beneath the Alto Palace. He limped alone the passageways, face set in grim determination, eventually finding himself in the chamber deep in the caverns, where Jim and Nina had met with his knockout gas. The pool of dirty, ever swirling water loomed before him like the dark mouth of a terrorizing monster. He carefully edged around it, making his way to a thick door at the far end of the stone room. He leaned against it, momentarily glancing back at the water, as if he feared it. The door swung open slowly to reveal none other than James West.

Realizing his mistake, Torres swung at the agent with his metal-plated fist, but Jim quickly shut the door, trapping the assassin's arm within the frame.

"Give it up, Torres, you still have a choice," Jim stated with effort, pushing with all his might to hold the door semi-shut. Torres' strength was incredible, as the assassin tried to force his way in.

"I'm sorry you don't have a choice, Mr. West," Torres replied slowly, positioning himself against the door. "I sincerely am." With immense power, he began to forcibly pry the door ajar.

Jim struggled to hold his own, but he was steadily pushed back as the portal slowly opened. Glancing at the wall behind the door, Jim let go suddenly, then, bracing himself against the wall, he gave the door a solid kick. The motion caused Torres to stumble forward and then be thrown back into the chamber behind him.

Jim grabbed the overhanging door frame, using it to support his weight as he kicked Torres in the chest with both feet. The villain went careening to the left, crashing into the rough, stone wall. He quickly recovered as Jim made a dash for him. Torres made another swing at West, but his movements were slow, due to the countless metallic parts that made up his crippled body. Jim ducked, and the assassin fell right across his back. Using all his strength, Jim grabbed Torres and, lifting the assassin off the ground, threw him into the dark pool with a resounding _splash!_

Torres emerged, struggling stiffly. He tried to pull himself up the rock sides, but to no avail. His heavy metal body was pulling him down...down to the unknown depths. "I find myself in the position of the knights of old in armor," Torres stated, his voice still emotionless, even as his grip began to slowly slide from his grasp on the stones. "Stay away from water more than head deep. Rule number two, in my case, to avoid a rope around the neck at all cost. The indignity would be far more painful than the hanging." His voice started to change ever so slightly as the water level reached his chin. Panic. Quiet, accepting panic.

Jim squatted by the waterside, reaching out to the struggling man. Despite the evil the man had done, Jim's sense of right and wrong wouldn't let him turn and leave the man for dead. "Take my hand, Torres."

The assassin's eyes filled with sadness, as if he regretted their opposing sides. "I would have liked to..." His fingers slipped from the rocks. "... at another time..." With a gentle _splish _and a number of bubbles, Torres disappeared beneath the surface. There was nothing Jim could do. After a moment, the bubbles ceased, and the water became as it had been before; a dark swirling pool; bottomless. Torres, the Steel Assassin, was dead.

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**I was so excited to write this chapter I worked real hard to get all my homework done early so I could write it up and post it. One more chapter to go I think. :)**


	11. Picking Up the Pieces

Artie shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he continued to work. The bright, warming light of the afternoon was shining through the windows of the Wanderer, glinting off the object the agent was steadily piecing back together. His leg still hurt, but that was to be expected. His shoulder, which he had been beginning to think everyone thought was a pincushion, had been properly cleaned and bandaged, just as his leg had been. As he worked his mind went over the case they had just completed.

...

Artie had freed Jim from his bindings, and James had run off to capture Torres.

Artemus Gordon sat on the carpeted floor of the Assassin's chamber. Despite the blood that poured from the wound in his upper thigh, pooling on the floor, Artie felt unnaturally relieved. Yes, he was sitting there, bleeding, bruised, and with one heck of a headache, but he was _free_. Free from the hypnosis, or even the threat of ever being put under it again. That dreaded lamp was ruined; smashed on the floor not far from him. Artie laughed nervously, but it came out sounding more like a strangled sigh.

He looked down at his leg. The pants were torn, and a large, dark circle soaked the fabric on his right limb so that it clung wetly to his skin.

_That needs to be taken care of_, he though, but made no move to do so. He was just so tired...and sore. He glanced over toward Miss Gilbert. _She's still tied to that chair._But still he made no move to get up. The floor was a welcome comfort after standing for what must have been hours. Artie was a good actor, but it had taken everything he'd had to pull this performance off, and now he felt totally drained.

Artemus wasn't sure how long he sat there, staring at his leg as though it fascinated him, watching as the blood stained his clothes and the carpet. Suddenly someone ran into the room.

"Artie?" It was Jim.

The younger agent strode over to him and kneeled beside him. "Artie, you're losing a lot of blood! We have to bind your leg and get you to a doctor!"

Artemus just looked up into his face and blinked owlishly.

Jim shook his head sadly. Artie was probably in mild shock. He had been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours. Blood loss and exhaustion had really taken a toll on his friend.

Taking Artie's pant leg and giving a sharp tug, Jim tore the material off so he could get a better look at the bullet wound. It looked terrible. Jim couldn't even see the actual hole where the bullet had entered; too much blood covered it. Using the pant fabric he had taken off, Jim wrapped his friends leg tightly. Sitting back on his heels, he took in his makeshift bandage. It would work for now, but that bullet was still lodged in there. Jim would have to find a doctor to get it out.

Next he looked at Artie's shoulder, again choosing to just rip the fabric to get to the wound. The shirt was already ruined. The puncture marks had clotted, which was a good sign. It meant they were already beginning to heal. Jim didn't like the way they looked, though. Red, irritated circles surrounded the three holes. Three times Artie had been stabbed. It filled Jim with anger. Torres had had no right to do this to anyone! But Torres was dead...he couldn't hurt anyone anymore...

"Jim?"

"Artie!" Jim looked into his partners eyes, trying to see how much Artemus was really there. "How do you feel, pal?"

Still blinking slowly, Artie ran a hand, his left one, through his dark hair. "I've...I've been better." He looked around nervously. "Torres?"

"Dead."

A look of relief washed over Artie's face, but was quickly replaced by concern. "J-Jim, you didn't kill h-him?!" He struggled to rise to his feet, but Jim held him firmly.

"No," James replied. "He fell into the water below ground...sank to the bottom. He...he wouldn't accept my help."

Artie sighed, relaxing slightly. "I can't say I'll miss him," he said with a smirk. It was only a small glimpse of the true Artemus Gordon, but West was glad to see it. Artie's smile faded just a tad. "He was an interesting man, Jim."

Jim nodded slowly. He found it hard to feel any real sorrow for the lose of the assassin, after what he had done to Artemus. Jim couldn't believe that Artie could find it in his heart to give the monster a compliment. But that was just who Artie was; a gentleman to all, both friend and foe.

"Let's get you to a doctor, Artie." Jim rose, carefully lifting his friend with him.

Artie's head spun, no doubt a side effect of his loss of blood. He tried to ignore it as he cast a concerned glance at Miss Gilbert. "What about her?"

"I'll get her." Jim didn't admit that he had, in truth, forgotten all about the young woman. His thoughts had been fully on Artie, as his injuries were far more severe...Of course, Jim didn't know that for sure. For all he knew, Miss Nina Gilbert might have a concussion, or a fractured skull...Inwardly, the agent felt slightly embarrassed. "Do you think you can stand?"

Artie shifted his weight to his uninjured leg, hopping slightly to find the right balance. "Yeah, Jim."

West let go of his partner hesitantly, afraid that he would fall once he released his hold. But Artie remained upright, though a little unsteadily.

Jim went and untied Nina from her chair and lifted her on his shoulder, as he had done earlier that day in the saloon. Then he returned to Artie, taking hold of his partners uninjured arm. "Let's go."

Jim took them back to the Wanderer, yelling for Orrin Cobb, their engineer and the only other man within hearing shot at that moment, to go and fetch the nearest doctor. The man dropped the work he had been doing on the outside of the Wanderer to go do as Jim asked.

The doctor arrived shortly after. He inspected Artemus first, removing the bullet from Artie's thigh, and cleaning it and any other injury he could find.

Then he moved on to Miss Gilbert. She was awake now and sat quitely, smiling up at them with that same old childish grin. Artie and James had half hoped that the knock on the head would have cured her of the hypnosis, but it hadn't. Torres hadn't left a loophole in her trance like he had with Artie.

The doctor declared her healthy, though badly bruised. No concussion, just a cut, though he did wonder about her strange behavior.

"Thanks, Doc," Jim said, leading the slightly frazzled man out the door. Closing it, James came back to Artie. "What now? Is she going to stay like this forever?" He gestured to Nina who sat looking around her curiously.

Artemus rubbed the back of his neck. "Jim...I don't know. If only...Jim!" He jumped up quickly. A little _too_ quickly. He teetered dangerously as the room began to spin, but Jim was beside him at once, holding him steady.

"Easy there, Artie! You heard what the doctor said! You have to take it easy!"

"I know, Jim, I know," Artie said excitedly, brushing off the help as he regained his balance. "I know how to help Miss Gilbert!"

Jim's eyebrows rose comically. "How?"

"Now, Jim, that's the thing. I need you to go get something for me...

...

And now, here Artie was. He sat, rather stiffly, with the now completed lamp in his hands. It had taken some time; a day and a night, in fact. But now it was finished.

Artemus had made Jim bring him the smashed light from Torres' chamber. It hadn't been to bad; not with some of Artie's experimental glue he had created...granted, by accident. Taking the pieces he carefully put the cursed thing back together. Miss Nina Gilbert had been put under hypnosis, and by gum she needed someone to pull her out of it!

Jim watched as Artie carefully moved the lamp over to another table, the one by the couch where he and Miss Gilbert were sitting. Artemus nodded to him and Jim vacated his seat to go stand beside Artie, leaving Nina alone on the sofa.

Lighting the wick, Artie turned to Nina. "Now," he said gently, giving the lampshade a slight turn. "Look at it."

Nina did so, at first blocking it with her hand as the light hit her full in the face. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Her eyes focused on the pattern and her hand slowly returned to her lap. Artie seemed pleased.

"Good. Good, now I want you to think of nothing. Nothing."

Artie's voice was soft and soothing, and Miss Gilbert found herself listening, taking it in as an odd sensation of clarity began to fill her head. Things were coming back to her. Her education, her family, the death of her uncle, her going to visit Torres, but then, after that, nothing...

"Now, your eyelids are getting heavy," the calm voice said, "You're getting sleepy. Sleepier..."

Nina's eyes drew closed, though they did remain slits so that she could still see the lamp.

"I think that's it, Jim," Artie whispered, "Talk to her- softly."

"Nina?" A different voice this time.

"Yes?" Her answer was quiet, half-awake, but clear.

"You're a student working for your doctorate."

_That's right_, Nina thought groggily. "Yes...of course I am," she stated haltingly.

Artemus was watching her intently, leaning on the table slightly to take pressure off his wounded leg.

"What was the last course you completed?" Jim pressed, his voice deep, but calming.

Nina paused a moment. "The...cerebral motivations...of human behavior," she said at last.

The two agents exchanged a glance; Artie's face lighting up in a triumphant smile. James leaned forward and snapped his fingers in front of Nina's face. "Wake up, Miss Gilbert."

Artie stopped the lamp from spinning.

Nina blinked rapidly, putting a hand to her cheek as she came back to herself, breathing heavily. She looked up at them.

Jim and Artemus stood grinning down at her.

"Welcome home, Miss Gilbert," Jim said happily, bending over and kissing the waking woman gently on the lips.

Nina's head perked up indignantly as she looked around the room with an almost frantic motion, "Home?" she nearly yelled, obviously upset.

"Yeah," Jim replied, already turning on his charm. "Well, it's kind of a long story."

"Oh!" Nina cried, finally noticing what she was wearing. She was still adorned in her showgirl outfit. "Who dressed me in these clothes?" she demanded, a hint of fear and embarrassment in her voice.

Jim and Artie exchanged yet another glance. Jim turned back to her with a 'let me explain' smile. "That's part of the long story."

"Have I been dreaming, or did you just kiss me?" She narrowed her eyes at Jim.

"Oh, well, talking about kisses-"

"Oh, how dare you!" She rose quickly and, to the suprise of both agents, slapped West across the face with a resounding smack. "Oh! The nerve of you two!" She crossed to the far side of the car, glaring daggers in their direction. "How despicable! The unmitigated gall of dressing me like a hussy! Of kissing me while I'm asleep!" She began throwing anything within her reach: pillows, books, cups. "Oh!"

A book hit Jim in the chest as he started to back away.

Artie ducked a flying pillow, his face beaming with a laughing smile. She had actually hit Jim! A girl had actually smacked the legendary king of all heart-throbs, James West! It was the funniest thing Artie had ever seen in his life! His smile faded slightly as he too was forced to retreat to the opposite end of the train car from the wrathful woman.

The two men huddled next to each other, backed up against the wall as the projectiles kept coming. A book slammed into Artie's head, surprising him greatly. Pottery shattered all around them and pages tore and crumpled as books sailed through the air.

"You know, I liked her better before," Artemus declared, attempting to shield himself from yet another book headed his way.

"She was more agreeable," Jim replied, doing the same.

"Yeah."

Nina continued the attack on her rescuers, huffing and yelling all the while. Jim and Artie knew they'd have to wait for her to calm down before an explaination would be able to be given. They would just have to wait it out.

After all, what was one more danger when your a Secret Service agent in the wild, wild west.

THE END

**...**

**Like I said at the beginning of this story, I do not own the names or characters of The Wild Wild West. I write only for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others.**

**This story was an AU, which means it followed the same story line of an episode (in this case, The Night of the Steel Assassin), but I changed it to give an alternate story. As a result, some of the lines and scenes are from that episode. I do not own them either.**

**Thanks - Zeragii**


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